


Dare Devil

by bimmykimmy



Category: Motorcity
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, guilt tripping, uncomfortable sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:11:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bimmykimmy/pseuds/bimmykimmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Chilton has grown accustomed to the rush of adrenaline. But when is it too much? He finds out the hard way, leaving a rather flustered Chuck as his care taker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Adrenaline

"One day you're going to get yourself killed."

...

Being an adrenaline junkie wasn't exactly the best way to cope with stress; and stress was certainly something Mike Chilton had an abundance of. The constant, over-hanging threat and fear of attack could really take it's toll on a person. Of course, Mike wasn't alone in this struggle, not at all. He had his burners, his friends, even all of Motorcity behind him. But when it came down to it, Mike was the one to shoulder it all.

The pressure was enough to make anyone on edge and high strung, but this leader was the poster child of calm and collected...usually.

So, in times when that "usually" started to become a "definitely," Mike needed an out. This where adrenaline seeped in and offered it's sweet relief.

That rush of energy would course through his body, like a jolt of electricity shocking his muscles to full power. It wasn't as if he normally felt weak, but living his day to day life was just not cutting it. He needed to feel alive, to feel free, and living dangerously was the only (logical) way he saw fit. The numerous attacks from Kane's bots, destroyers, H.O.U.N.D.s, and whatever his lust for power allowed his mind to conjure brought just enough action to Mike's life that it hardly seemed reasonable to add even more flare. But that's where logic flew out the window. With every action there is a reaction, every half has its other, and every day of action had its day of inaction.

And sometimes days of inaction. Perhaps a month, maybe two.

It didn't take a genius to figure out the vicious cycle that was soon to follow.

Mike needed the action, craved it actually. It was bad enough that the nagging idea of when Kane's next strike would be hovered over him, but to add placidity to it was pure torture.

He was adventurous by nature, and reckless to boot. So, finding ways to get his heart pumping and hands shaking was simply child's play. Motorcity-being the lovable junk yard of a place it was-was full of death traps and obstacles that just begged to be taken on.

...

Mike shifted gears and pushed the accelerator to the floor as he zipped along the suspended highways of the dark, dismal city he passionately called home.

"Just make sure you're back before I go back up to Deluxe," Julie's icon hovered over his dashboard, her voice halfway between annoyed and worried. Mike had abruptly made his exit with really no explanation. He simply needed to leave. Any longer and he would've cracked. He couldn't have his burners see this weakness.

Hell, he could barely stand seeing it for himself.

He had stood as Julie was mid-sentence, all the burners eyeing him warily.

"Goin' for a drive," he had mumbled. Leaving his friends stuttering and questioning as he walked out to the garage.

The icon's unwavering stare made the driver shift and squirm, tightening and loosening his fists on the steering wheel.

"I still have some intel on the upgraded software Kane's been using for the nano technology, and I need to discuss it with you..."

Mike fought back a sigh, "Gotcha," he affirmed to Julie's icon, giving it a quick glance.

Her floating pixel pursed it's lips, unsatisfied with Mike's tone. However, Julie said nothing and simply signed off, leaving Mike to his own thoughts.

And to his addiction.

Mutt's roar rose and fell as Mike shifted gears again and again in sync with his increasing speed. Driving Mutt was a proper distraction from stress too, he supposed, but its meticulous, repetitive motions were quick to bore the burner. Especially since he drove every day-it was his schtick.

Mike cruised on for at least a half hour before finally spotting his next target. He leaned forward, hugging his steering wheel, as he strained his eyes upward. Through his windshield the mountainous pile of car parts, rubble, and metallic items of all shapes and sizes came into view. As he neared it, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Piece of cake," he said as he spun his steering wheel and screeched to a halt. Black streaks on the pavement traced the path behind Mutt, and a slight burning rubber smell wafted into the air. Mike closed the door with a small slam, letting the radiated heat from Mutt's engine sooth him a bit. After a moment, he put his hands on his hips and gazed up at the sight before him with determination frozen to his features.  
The scrap yard wonderland looked more than ready to be explored. Risky looking ledges, dangerous heights, and physics were all pretty much out of Mike's favor. Despite it all, he triumphantly concluded that his athletic abilities and gymnast-like acrobatics were going to make it a breeze.

Mike let out a soft chuckle, twitched his head sideways to briefly move his bangs out of his eyes (only to have them bounce right back in place), and took off running towards the scrap pile.

...

His leaps and flips echoed through the yard with a metallic twang. The colossal pile had proved to be more than adventurous, it was downright fun! Like a private playground made exclusively for Mike's personal enjoyment.

He stopped for a moment on a hood of a car that acted as a make-shift ledge. He held onto a led pipe that stuck out and leaned forward over the edge, gazing down at the piles of scrap which looked like they continued on for much longer than he originally anticipated. It was like a dark hole, an abyss, and it loomed with an eerie threat that even Mike was not crazy enough to explore...usually.

His eyes scanned the perimeter, analyzing the best pathway. He could already feel his special drug taking its effect. His body felt light, his muscles twitched in anticipation, and his pupils were wide in dilated excitement. No amount of Kane bots or gangs could ever bring him this satisfaction. The risk, the danger, the (yeah, he admits it) insanity of it all made Mike shiver. All of this was his doing. He caused this rush. And that's what excited him the most.

To be the causation, to be the one in control; it was like a buffet feeding his feral desires until they were bloated and grinning. Not quite satisfied with what the scrap metal had to offer, Mike leaned back away from the edge and tugged on the pipe. His feet shifting on the car hood caused the weak surface to dent inward with a rusty pop.

Mike tugged again on the pipe; it seemed stable enough. He used both hands to pull himself up, climbing on the next scrap piece that was smaller than the car hood in diameter, but thicker and seemed sturdier. He turned around to see the view once again. Mike was at a height where he could almost see over the other piles. The ever-dark sky of Motorcity loomed above him, vast and mysterious. Below, the foreboding abyss seemed to call out to him, seducing him into a hypnotizing lull. Mike took a step out closer to the edge, only to have the metal shelf groan and lurch forward. He stopped, knees bending a bit and his hands splaying to his sides attempting to balance on thin air.

His heart thumped wildly for a short moment. And it felt so damn good.

Mike knew he had a problem. Driving out to the middle of nowhere to climb a highly unstable scrap pile, simply on the motive of wanting a quick burst of exhilaration, it wasn't what sane people did. It wasn't even what insane people did.

It's just what Mike does.

The burner smiled widely as he shuffled his feet forward, moving that much closer to the edge. The metal piece groaned again, and his body shivered with an odd excitement that even he was too ashamed to really call it what it truly was. His eyes peered up through his fringe, scanning the elements around him once again. He spotted another make-shift ledge just across the way. It almost mirrored the surface he stood on now, a large slab of metal wedged between two cars; poking out in a teasing way that just cooed "jump."

And so, he would.

...

Mike bit his lip and zipped up his coat to his chin. The cold air bit at his skin as he pressed all of his energy into his legs, shifting quickly to the ledge and pressing his feet off the metal shelf. It shifted backwards at his pressure. This shift caused for an awkward take-off, but it didn't hinder Mike as badly as fate wanted. And he was in the air, soaring outward, legs stretched ready to reach his designated landing. The dark abyss below him seemed to moan and echo wantonly, pleading to consume him in one swift moment.

Mike felt as if he could fly. But of course, he knew he couldn't really...but it was nice to pretend. Time seemed to move in slow motion as he glided over the gap, adrenaline pumping though his veins like sweet nectar. It was all he could ever want, all he really needed. It was this moment, this precise moment that made Mike think it was truly all worth it.

To be alive, to be moving. Living fast, living Free. This is what it all meant.

Time resumed and the resulting event flashed forward before Mike could mentally process it.

His aim had been a little off, he could thank his shotty take-off for that, and he miscalculated the distance. His legs kicked out and his arms waved a bit as he tried his best to steady his course. Upon impact, Mike's hands grasped wildly onto the edge, just barely getting their hold. His body jolted into a stop, and his forearms burned as if they'd tear from the sudden weight. And that was just the thing that tipped the whole event, his weight.

The metal shelf gave way as soon as his body swung merely once. Mike barely had time to look up as the scrap piece came loose and sent him falling backwards into the darkness that willingly swallowed him. A raspy yelp was all that escaped his lips as he quickly disappeared into the gap, a few scraps and metal parts falling along with him.

...

Mike came back into groggy consciousness with a pounding headache. His eyes fluttered open weakly, and he lifted his head to give himself a half-hassled once over. It was dark, cold, and everything was man-made and hard. He shifted a bit only to be greeted by the clanging and shifting of metal objects. A low groan bellowed in his throat as he let his head lay back down on his scrap piece pillow.

As his pupils adjusted to the dark, the scene was beginning to clear up. He could see where he had fallen from, just barely. Thank God it wasn't actually a never ending abyss that had been taunting him this whole time. If it had been, well, a headache would be the least of his problems.

That's what confused Mike though. How was he relatively unscathed?

The brunette sat up and rubbed the back of his throbbing skull; quickly checking his fingers for any blood. Just as his eyes narrowed in on his hand, beyond his focus was a rather unfortunate looking display.

"Holy shit," Mike breathed as he slapped his hands on either side of him. He leaned back ever so slightly, as if he wanted to detach from his own body. He was trembling, heart still pumping and adrenaline still very much zipping through his blood. His arms shivered weakly under his weight.

He gazed down, horrified, at his shoe. The silver shard glistened with crimson as it pierced up through the fabric. He lifted his leg carefully and peered to see the other side. The second half the metal shard greeted him on that side as well as it stabbed through his sole, and more obviously, his foot. Mike whimpered and let his leg drop back down. His blood oozed out of the puncture due to this movement, and Mike felt the bile in his stomach rise to his throat.

There was no pain though. The adrenaline was living up to its expectations, thankfully. But, Mike was no idiot. Well, not an total and complete idiot. He knew the wound was bad, puncture wounds typically were. And on his foot no less. There was no way he was going anywhere any time soon.

With a trembling hand, he brought his comm to his mouth and turned it on with his chin. The signal was weak, and as it searched Mike laid back down, carefully. The metal scraps clanging and clanking in protest. As he stared up towards the point at which he fell, he thought he should probably pay more attention to the wound. It simply didn't hurt. And without pain, the sense of urgency was kind of hard to follow suit.

He was unaware of the growing puddle of crimson at the base of the metal shelf that lay just under him.

The other end picked up, and the voice barely came in through the static.

"Mike?"

Mike opened his mouth to speak, finding that his throat was incredibly dry. He paused a moment, simply letting out a long, shaky breath.

"Mike?" the other end repeated more earnestly through the strengthening signal.

"Chuck, I think I...might have screwed up. Royally," he said in a tone barely above a whisper.

"Jesus, Mike. Where are you? Do you have any idea what time it is? What happened? Did you go on a idiotic dare devil escapade again?!" Chuck fired his questions rapidly without giving any real pause for Mike to answer. His annoyance was clearly a sign of ignorance to Mike's current state. "One day you're gonna get yourself killed."

Mike let out a small chuckle. His vision went blurry, and a darkness began to tunnel around him. His mind became a foggy mess; dizzy and disoriented. He promptly forgot where he was, and his eyes rolled backwards.

"Ch-chuck..." once again he lost consciousness.

"Mike? Mike?! Are you there? Oh my God, Mike! Shit. Guys, something's wrong!"

The comm quickly turned off and the homing beacon activated, its green light blinking into the darkness.


	2. Testing the Limits

Blinking awake to a pounding headache was not something Mike wanted to become a routine. A half groggy, half whiny moan involuntarily escaped his lips as he sighed. For a moment, he forgot where he was and how he got there. The soft bed he laid on seemed foreign; he just couldn't seem to wrap his head around any solid thoughts.

His dangerous adventure had come to a screeching halt when he had that nasty fall. He remembers calling Chuck, but other than that, it was dark.

Mike let his eyes close again, slowly letting himself wake. And as his sleepy mind cleared it all came rushing back to him like the lousy adrenaline that got him in this situation in the first place. He turned his head and squinted at the figure sitting beside the bed.

"Finally awake, huh?" a familiar, soft voice laughed.

Mike blinked again and let Chuck come into focus through his dark lashes. By the look on his friend's face, he could tell he was not going to like these next few minutes.

"What," he began pausing for a moment to sit up, resting his elbows on the pillows, "what the hell happened?"

Acting as an answer, an immense pain shocked his system. He hissed through his teeth and whipped the blankets off. His foot was fully wrapped and was positively screaming at him. The pain shot through his leg, up through his ankle, feeling like a spider-web of daggers. His toes felt numb, and he was like 99% sure he was missing part of his heel, probably.

"Shit..." he whispered, all together exasperated and annoyed with himself.

Chuck shrugged and twisted his lips into a sideways smile. "Well," he paused trying to figure out the best way to put it, "you fell."

Mike shifted a bit, sitting back and resting against the headboard. "Yeah, I know that." He gestured to his foot with a questioning look.

"Ah," Chuck bit his lip. "Well, when you fell, your foot sort of...impaled itself on a scrap piece. It had been cut from a larger piece so it was pretty sharp. Crazy though, you must've been falling pretty fast to have it go all the way through your shoe and foot." As the blonde spoke, he fiddled with a chunk of his hair, studyingit intently as if he could tell if the ends were split or not.

Mike sighed. He could not believe this had happened. How could he be so reckless?

Oh yeah, he'd been reckless for a while. But now that he actually had some real consequences, well, he was downright regretting his behavior. Hindsight is 20-20. If only he had been more patient. Taken up poetry or, hell, learned to paint from Dutch! If only he hadn't been such an idiot, he wouldn't be sitting here with a foot throbbing.

Moments passed as he wracked through all of these thoughts. He sighed again, letting his head fall back against the board with a small thud. "How long for recovery?"

He heard Chuck choke back a yelp. He opened his eyes and darted them to his friend. "Chuck..." he said, a little more assertively. Chuck chewed on his bottom lip andMike wondered if it would start bleeding.

Chuck stood up and turned away, focusing on the rather complex first aid kit he had put together on the nightstand. "W-w-well," his usual weak and stuttering tone coming 

Mike Chilton sighed for what seemed a time too many. "You've gotta be kidding me." he mumbled, not quite wanting Chuck to hear it.

"I'm sorry."

Mike's heart hurt at those words. He narrowed his eyes as he stared at his hands. "It's not your fault, Chuck. You're the one who saved me right? If it weren't for you, I'd probably be still out there, drowning in my own stupidity. This is..." he gestured to his foot, "this is just what I get for being so..."

"Stupid?"

"Stupid."

Chuck let out a short laugh, but it was followed by a frown. It was a frown that spoke a thousand words and showed a thousand emotions. Chuck knew how this was going to effect his friend. He knew Mike better than any one on this planet. He understood why his leader had been going out, he knew why he would come home late some evenings with unexplained bumps and bruises. He just never spoke up. Chuck had always been worried about his friend, and he knew the day when Mike would just push it too far would come. Only now, I just wished he hadn't been right.

...

Chuck walked downstairs towards the garage, leaving Mike to attempt to sleep through his pain. He was the one that cleaned his wound, he was fully aware of just how much pain there actually was. There was no way Mike was going to get any decent sleep. Not right away, at least.

"Go on. Fine tune, Mutt would ya? Can't let her be neglected! I'll just nap and, uh, read a comic or something..." Mike had, unsuccessfully, reassured his friend. With some more pushing, he eventually got Chuck to (begrudgingly) agree to these terms; but promising that he'd be back in exactly three hours to check on him.

Kicking at some gravel, he eventually made his way through the "home," casually avoiding the pressing questions from the rest of the burners. Hiding under his bangs, he quickly glanced at Jacob, who in return gave him a knowing look. He took charge and boomed his voice over all the questions, declaring that the first person to try his new delicacy would be awarded with a new car part. Dutch, Julie, and Texas exchanged odd looks, and Chuck let this be his opportunity to escape.

He was not in the mood to talk, and simply did not have the energy to put on a mask for his friends' sake.

Usually towering over the others, Chuck let his natural curve of his spine shrink him down to as low as he felt.

He had blamed himself for this whole ordeal.

Of course, he would never tell Mike this. How could he? That would only trigger a guilt battle of who could carry the blame more than the other. Sometimes it was just plain annoying how polite and kindhearted Mike could be. Chuck wanted to be able to shoulder all the burdens himself. Why was it up to Mike to carry all the baggage? He was just as human as the rest of the burners, and yet he was the one who had the target painted on his forehead.

The blonde found his way to the garage, not really having any recollection of the journey there. He stared at Mutt. It was parked different than usual. This was because Dutch was the one to drive it back. And now that Chuck really looked at Mutt, it was not right. Mike would not be driving her for a long while, and it just seemed so wrong.

Chuck finally pulled up a stool and sat next to Mutt. He placed a soft hand on the hood, his chin falling to his chest.

"This is going to be a long recovery," he spoke to the car like speaking to a friend. "Mike is gonna miss you, he'll be down here for sure. God, he'll crawl down here if he has to."

He pat Mutt once, before standing back up and opening the hood. Maybe he'd add a little something special as a get well present for Mike.

...

Four days. That's all it took. Four days of laying around, trying to sleep, and muttering profanities at his foot before Mike felt like he was going to explode. He lay on his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He hummed a non-distinctive tune and played his stomach like a drum. Now that the pain wasn't exactly paralyzing, Mike was ready to move about and be done with it all.

His foot had other ideas.

Mike had been certain he could simply get right back in the game. He had sat up and tried walking, only to fall face first. Chuck had not been a happy camper after that. The brunette had to hide his smile as Chuck lectured him like a mother; spewing out reasons why he should stay in bed, get lots of rest, and has be bathed recently?

It was when Mike finally looked up at Chuck's expression that he finally felt his stomach drop. Chuck's bangs were clipped back out of his eyes, and they stared at him with an unwavering concern. Mike felt a twinge of guilt stab his gut. Chuck was his best friend, of course he was worried. Mike just hadn't noticed it since he was always caught up in his own world. The war with Kane, the rebuilding of Motorcity; these all clouded his vision to see what was right in front of him the entire time.

So, Mike surrendered. He promised, with no fingers crossed, that he would be a good patient and listen to Chuck. The blonde promptly put him on "room arrest."

And considering he was still very much addicted to a certain pesky hormone, all this inactivity was the absolute opposite of what he thought he needed. Mike strained to listen to the sounds of his burners chatting and enjoying the lull from Kane attacks. Luckily for Mike's sanity, there hadn't been any activity from above as of yet.

Mike wasn't sure what he'd do if the red lights and alarm went off. Probably force Chuck to create an android stand-in for him. He smirked at the idea.

After a few more minutes of absolute, mind-numbing stillness, Mike was feeling restless. No amount of opening and closing his eyes would change that. He slapped his hands on the mattress, causing the blankets to puff up on either side of him.

"Oh my God," he moaned to himself a bit dramatically, "This. is. awful."

In his head, he briefly turned over the idea of making a really loud noise just to draw attention from the others. He decided against it because he wasn't entirely sure he wanted his burners to see him like this. In fact, he had realized that he didn't want his burners seeing a lot of sides of him. When did that start?

All this inactivity was good for brain work, but bad for his conscience. The more he thought, the more he really realized just how badly he messed up. He should have never let his impatient nature get the better of him. He should have lived up to the leadership qualities that so many people expected of him. He had let down his city, his friends, and most importantly, Chuck. Mike couldn't stop himself from wondering what type of expression Chuck made when he got that comm call; his imagination giving him a pretty good idea. It made him a bit queasy.

Oh well, it was too late to sulk on all of that now. He had screwed up, big time, and now he was paying for it. End of story.

Mike shifted a bit to sit up, sending one of his pillows over the edge of the mattress. Chuck had really gone kind of over board with the whole "make him as comfortable as possible" theme. He stretched his arms above his head, straightening his back. He heard a satisfying pop and crumbled back into horrible posture with a relieved sigh. For a moment, he looked around his room and mentally took note of everything he hated about it. Once he could walk around again, he was going to rearrange some things. Everything, actually. In fact, all of the useless things he had laying around were all going to go. He made this promise to himself once before, when he was bed-ridden with the flu. He wasn't exactly sure how much merit it held this time around, but it was kind of comforting to know he was at least trying to change for the better.

But for now, he was stuck in sweat pants and t-shirt in his overly soft bed. Doing absolutely nothing, and it felt so damn boring. The polar opposite of how he felt just days before. Wind whipping his hair, muscles twitching, hands shaking. That odd, sensitive shiver he'd get right before he'd have his fix...

Now that he thought about it. He did sort of miss that feeling. It had made his body tingle with anticipation and would give him a satisfaction that he'd never really felt before.

It was, well, good. It felt good. It felt so damn good that he wanted, no, needed to feel it again.

Or, at least, the equivalent.

And "Nurse Chuck," as he so endearingly called him now, wasn't going to make his round for another hour. So, why the hell not? He was human after all.

Mike leaned over and opened the small drawer of his nightstand. He reached in to the way back, shuffling over some papers and an old oil filter. He felt around for a few moments and frowned. He could've sworn he had left some in there.

Things were just not going his way lately. He huffed, peeved at his predicament, and slid down against the headboard.

Not two seconds passed before he glanced quickly at his door; safely closed off from the rest of the world.

Tucking a hand behind his pillow and closing his eyes, Mike pressed his other on his groin. He lazily palmed himself through the fabric, letting his breath deepen with each downward movement. The pressure felt relaxing, offering just enough sensation and pleasure to tie him over for the moment. He hummed softly into his sigh.

Sure, it wasn't that same feeling he got when risking his life on a insane adventure; but he wasn't going to complain.

...

Mike hadn't meant for it to get this far. He intended to just stifle his boredom, to get a taste of that pleasant shiver he'd grown so accustomed to. Before he knew it, his mind was wandering. Fantasies he didn't even know he enjoyed began to fill his mind, egging his hand to move faster. The growing tent in his sweat pants wasn't offering him much of a choice either.

He gripped his hard-on through the fabric and stroked. The feeling was muted, and a bit harsh on his skin. An unpleasant expression crossed his features as he let out a small moan. He shifted his good leg up, trying to get better access. When that proved inefficient, Mike scoffed and simply pulled on his waistband. A relieved puff of air escaped his lungs as his dick sprung out, standing at attention, practically mocking him. He grabbed his with his fist and hissed through clenched teeth. Working so many hours on Mutt had made his hands permanent sand paper. He wasn't going to get very far with just this.

Cum beaded on the tip and he glared at it. He wasn't nearly wet enough, but if he were to stop now he would surely die. There was no way that this inactivity curse was going to ruin his jacking-off schedule too. Not if he had anything to say about it.

Thinking quick, Mike turned onto his side-mindful of his foot-and grabbed a pillow. After a short pause (as if trying to convince himself it was worth it), Mike folded it in half around his cock, and he couldn't have felt more ridiculous. Despite this self-inflicted embarrassment, Mike continued. Grunts and sighs followed as he began to thrust. The fabric was cool, and it sent an exhilarating shiver through his body. It was quite nice; feeling almost identical to the shiver he actually craved. The softness allowed him to move at any pace he wanted, and it didn't seem to be chaffing at all. Mike squeezed the pillow tighter as he rolled his hips forward, imagining it was something much better and tighter than he was thrusting into.

He kept going at it for quite some time. And soon, Mike began to get frustrated. He whimpered, defeated, as he grew tired. His hand, with whitening knuckles, cramped as it gripped the pillow. His climax was nowhere in sight and it was driving him up the wall.

"Come on," he moaned desperately.

It just wasn't fair.

Not only was he unable to go on his adrenaline rush, but he couldn't even get off without running into some kind of hiccup.

He pressed his face into his other pillow, feeling his hot breath moisten the fabric as he bit into it angrily. He needed more, he needed something different.

Something that would send his heart racing just like his adventures.

Something new.

Something...no.

His eyes popped open wide as his brain offered a suggestion.

Anything but that.

No. God, no.

Never.

Well...

He couldn't actually believe he was about to do this. He wasn't necessarily against it, but really? This is what it's come down to? Yeah, he definitely had a problem.

Mike quickly brought his hand out from under the pillow and popped his fingers in his mouth, moistening them with his tongue as it swirled around. As he pulled them out, his saliva shined and trailed along his lips. He stared at his fingers for a quick moment, his dark skin glistened in its new coat. Just looking at it made an odd wave of anticipation rush through him. Maybe he made the right choice after all. He gave a quick, shuttering sigh before moving his hand behind him.

"Jesus, shit," he said in an exasperated tone. His eyes squeezed shut as he pressed his finger against the ring of muscle. It was tight and offering little to no room for any kind of entrance. He attempted to relax, picturing his turn ons in vivid detail. Eventually, with some wriggling, he got it in. His sharp intake of breath practically caused him to cough. It was definitely different, and definitely new. He wasn't exactly sure if he liked it, but that bit of uncertainty was not enough to stop him.

His finger moved in and out, slowly, testing his limits. He easily found that his limits were, well, nonexistent.

Minutes passed and one thing led to another, and Mike had two fingers inside. He scissored them, causing his body to twitch and squirm, and God he had no idea he was into this. His breathing was uneven, and his lungs began to hurt as he switched from panting to holding his breath. Pushing into the knuckle, Mike let out a long groan. This was when he realized he wasn't even paying any attention to his front.

Odd. He had never forgotten about his dick before during something like this. It angrily throbbed in response.

His fingers pulled out and back in, his hips mimicking this movement. Over and over, again and again. Thrusting into the pillow, and into himself. It was a perfectly foreign combination that simply sent him over the edge. Minutes later, and Mike found himself coming harder than ever before. Every muscle tensed, and he pressed his face flat into his pillow, feeling his eyes roll back into his head. When his waves of orgasm finally subsided, for the first time in he couldn't remember when, he felt totally and utterly relaxed. His heart thrashed against his chest in powerful beats; his pupils dilated wide.

"Damn," he smiled as he turned to lay on his back, resting in his filth and not really caring. He still had time before his nurse made his round.

His chest rose and fell happily as his breath sighed in a blissful afterglow. Who needed adrenaline when you could have that?

Sometimes, being the Dare Devil had it's perks.

...

Chuck let his quivering fist hover just in front Mike's door.

No, he had definitely not heard what he thought he just heard. That would be preposterous.

But maybe...?

No.

He was hearing things.

Oh God, it totally was.

Chuck felt his face heat up involuntarily. The sounds that Mike had just been making traveled easily through the wooden door and straight to Chuck's crotch. The blonde had a feeling his friend really had no idea just how loud he was actually being. And now there was absolutely no way on God's green earth he could possibly look him in the eye.

"Ugh, Mike," Chuck whispered weakly, "you really gotta stop putting me through these emotional roller coasters."

He turned on his heel and dragged his feet away down the hallway. He thought maybe another half hour or so would be enough time. Or maybe never.

Never worked.

...

A knock on the door jolted Mike out of his nap. He quickly fell out of his sleepy haze and his arm felt like shattering glass because he had fallen asleep on it. He groaned a bit and said something that sounded like a "come in."

Chuck opened the door, a friendly smile on his lips that touched his eyes. His cheeks were constantly flushed a deep red recently. Mike didn't really understand, but never mentioned it out of politeness. Chucks bangs were yet again clipped up out of his eyes, and Mike couldn't help but stare. It was such a rare occurrence, but he could get used to seeing them.

The moment didn't last long though because Mike knew what it usually meant when Chuck had his bangs back. It meant it was time to change the bandages.

He promptly grabbed a pillow and slapped it to his face, a futile attempt to hide from the enemy.

"No," he declared in a rather uncharacteristically bratty tone.

He heard Chuck sigh and place the medical scissors on the first aid tray he had put together. Mike knew he was being unreasonable, seeing as he had done this every single time after the first change. But at this point in time, he really didn't care. An entire week and a half had already put Mike past his limits of charisma and positive thinking.

"Come on, bro," Chuck pleaded, "It'll go by a lot smoother if you'd just behave for once."

"I'd rather cut my foot off. Why don't we just do that?" Mike retorted into the pillow, his free hand waving about dramatically. "Seems like all the shit has hit the fan already, so why not add that to the mix?!"

"At least things are quiet for once, from Kane I mean," Chuck smiled and began cutting strips of the bandages. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy Mike's new attitude. If anything,it made him a lot less intimidating. And Chuck, well, he could definitely use less intimidating people in his life. He turned and sat on the bed heavily, making Mike bounce. He saw Mike's hand press the pillow harder into his face, but he had no further resistance otherwise.

Chuck didn't say anything more as he fluffed the pillow under Mike's foot to give it more leverage, and carefully began to unwrap it. The first time he had taken a look at the wound, Chuck had practically fainted. But other than Jacob, Chuck was the only one who knew anything about medical care. His realistic LARPing had been a rather good tutor for him. He knew his friends would make fun of him for it later, but at the moment he was practically a savior.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and furrowed his brow. The wound was still looking pretty nasty. Not as bad as the first night. And after a few days of that, the wound had closed just enough to actually use stitches.

Now that had bee quite the adventure.

Chuck had given Mike a leather belt and frown apologetically.

"What's this for?" Mike had asked as Texas and Dutch suddenly grabbed his hands and pushed them down against the mattress. Mike's eyes had widened, but his expression showed that he was pretty much comprehending. He let Dutch place the leather belt in his mouth.

"We kinda...ran out of anesthetic..." Chuck mumbled anyways, as he and Julie soaked the needles in alcohol.

Chuck shivered just thinking about the face Mike had made that night.

But now, at least all he needed to do was clean it and refresh the bandages. That was...relatively painless...or at least it should be. But Mike was a squirmy dude, as if the ants in his pants were constantly having a party that literally no one was invited to except them. The blonde burner wanted to ask Mike about this twitchy-ness. Chuck always remembered that himself being the antsy one and Mike being...well, Mike.

Chuck lifted the last bandage off; it stuck only momentarily before popping off. That part was always the longest, since Chuck had to be extra careful not to agitate any of the stitches. It had been at least ten minutes before he finally got that last bandage off.

And right on cue, Mike began to fidget.

"No, Mike, come on. No!" He pressed his hands on Mike's knees, trying to hold him still.

"It hurts though!"

"It does not!"

"How would you know?"

"I know because...because I know! All right? Now, p-p-please, M-mike, just...would you just..." his voice quickly resorted back to its default whine and tremble as Mike began to turn over, and he quickly lost any authority he might have had.

Chuck deflated into a sigh, and flopped sideways on the bed to lay parallel to Mike-keeping his legs off the side. They laid there for a few moments in a silence that wasn't necessarily uncomfortable.

"Mike, you really gotta relax, buddy. Your crazy escapades, your literal addiction to danger. That crap is gonna get you killed. Shit, I thought you had died..."

Mike winced at those words. He knew this whole event had caused some tension between them. They weren't talking like they used to. Things were...weird, different. Despite Chuck's 24/7 care, Mike felt further and further away from him. And it hurt. A lot. More than he thought it would. He laid there, stewing in his painful thoughts for quite some time.

"Why don't you just, I dunno, find a different way to get your rocks off?" Chuck finally said.

There was no answer from Mike. Did he fall asleep?

Chuck sat back up and looked over his shoulder at the pillow where Mike's face should be.

"Mike, I said-"

"Yeah, I," Mike began a bit quietly. There was a short pause. "I heard you."

A few more moments passed before Mike moved the pillow away. Chuck greeted his gaze with a soft smile. It fell quickly as he saw the rather serious look on Mike's face.

"W-what?" Chuck felt his face heat up a bit as Mike's stare lasted longer than comfortably allowed. Chuck's brain had pretty much hated him ever since the little incident from days earlier. It would spring up and say 'hey, remember this?" and yes, yes Chuck remembered it. Rather vividly, in fact.

"We're friends right?"

"Um, yes?"

"And friends...ahh, friends do, um, things for each other, right?"

"...yes?"

"Chuck, if I asked you something really, really weird...would you..." his voiced trailed off, as if he were rethinking his decision to say whatever he was about to say.

Chuck couldn't say for sure how much time passed. He opened his mouth a few times, but promptly closed it because he swore Mike looked like he was going to say something more. And of course, he didn't. Mike's gaze eventually shifted and he let his head fall into his hands, letting out an exhausted groan. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and whispered, "Jesus Christ..."

"Mike?" Chuck let his hand fall onto Mike's knee.

"Chuck, will you blow me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Porn. Plot is shotty too. Oh well.


	3. The Deal

Saying you could hear a pin drop would be the understatement of the year when describing the silence which followed. Chuck was sure that the slightest gust of wind could've knocked him straight on his butt. He swallowed hard a few times, adam's apple bouncing in response.

"Y-you, um, w-what?" he choked out, voice barely a squeak. His freckled cheeks burned as they turned a bright pink. Surely, Mike was losing his marbles. Chuck's eyes made their way around the room; looking everywhere, at everything. Desperately avoiding the inevitable eye contact that he was surely to stumble into. His glance finally fell to Mike's, and he felt his chest tighten. Mike stared at him, unwavering and sincere, and it sent an odd chill up Chuck's spine that made him queasy.

"S-stop jokin' around, Mikey." Chuck mustered the courage to finally speak again. He shifted around and grabbed some cotton balls and supplies; never really admitting to himself that he heard a disappointed sigh from Mike. Chuck moved slowly, but his hands were shaking. He silently cursed his fidgety nature and complete lack of self composure. Desperate for a change of mood, Chuck practically gasped out "Dude, you've been sitting in bed for like ever. Your junk probably smells skanky. No  _way_  I'm going near that." He laughed, a bit weakly, but was satisfied to see a smirk appear on Mike's lips.

"Yeah, I guess I really haven't properly bathed in a while."  _Not to mention I've jacked off at least fourteen times already without so much as a quick wipe-down_ , Mike's brain added smugly. "Ok, let's do this stupid thing."

Mike was thankful that their friendship was so strong that the rest of the re-bandaging went by smoothly, and not as awkwardly as one would expect. That's what was so great about Chuck. His lack of opinion and voice made it rather easy to tease him without repercussions. Times that were very "open mouth, insert foot", Mike could always catch a break from his best friend.

This time, though, Mike felt an odd twinge of disappointment. He leaned back down, not bothering to cover his face with a pillow again.

He hadn't really planned on Chuck responding in the affirmative, but once Chuck brushed his request aside, it kind of hurt. It felt very much like being rejected; something Mike was not entirely used to. Chuck's hands felt comforting as they gently cleaned his foot. The alcohol stung as he dabbed cotton balls against the now bumpy, scabbing skin. Mike hissed and grunted a few times as slight jolts of pain zapped his nerves, gaining him weak mumbles of "s-sorry" from his nervous friend.

"Well, the stitches look fine." Chuck said with some satisfaction at his handy-work.

The brunette let his head fall back, folding his arms over his eyes, as he tried his best to stay still for the next part. Re-badaging was always the hardest. The small pressure against his wound wasn't unbearable, but it sent shooting pains up his legs and it gave him waves of nausea. Every time Chuck had to do this-which was getting less and less-Mike was constantly reminded of his idiocy. And the session always ended with him apologizing to his friend once again, telling him to tell the others just how bad he feels for letting them down like this.

Chuck smiled gently and placed a soft hand on Mike's stomach, this caused Mike to flinch ever so slightly, but it went unnoticed. "You'll be back on your feet before you know it. It's really healing nicely, considering, well,  _everything_. Does it hurt a lot still?"

Mike responded with shaking his head no, arms still over his eyes.

There was a small pause, quiet except for the growing noises of the other burners downstairs. Julie must have just gotten in.

Chuck pat Mike's stomach again. It was a strangely intimate gesture, and it sent an arousing shiver through Mike. He had to get himself under control before it was too late. His searching for ways to get his heart pumping were on the verge of extreme (well, okay, they were pretty extreme before. But now they were getting personal). Why the hell had he asked Chuck-his best friend, his other half, the ying to his yang and so on-to blow him? Was he  **insane**?!

Despite these thoughts, Mike still felt that nagging longing feeling in the pit of his stomach. As much as he was ashamed to admit it, he did think Chuck was good looking and _hell_ , he would definitely not mind getting a blow job from him. He'd be lying to say he hadn't noticed how perfectly shaped his lower lip was; how smooth his upper lip looked due to excessive lip balm applications. A cock between them wouldn't be so bad. And to say that Chuck's screams as they drove close to sound barrier speed didn't go straight to his groin was flat out false.

Chuck stood up, cleaned up, and turned to leave the room. Just as his hand gripped the doorknob, he made a whimper. "Ah, um. M-Mike?"

Mike moved his arms and lifted his head to look at his friend. He stared at the blonde's back, it was tense, shoulders were risen and shaking. "If, if um if you weren't, you know,  _100%_  joking about the, um, the uh thing..." his voice trailed off.

"I...wasn't." Mike chanced to say; his eyes studying his friend intently as he flinched at his response.

Without turning around to face Mike, Chuck said in an almost defeated tone, "I, ah, I'll think about it."

Mike perked up, his brain flying out the window. "What? Really?" He could've slapped himself for sounding so immature; like a kid being promised a trip to the candy  
store.

"U-um, yeah," Chuck was glad he was turned towards the door because he could not trust what his face was doing at this precise moment. That bit of courage was now gone and he bolted out of the room, letting the door swing slowly to a stop before it could close all the way.

The burners' leader chuckled a bit and shifted his hands behind his head.

Well, this was certainly an interesting turn of events. Maybe things weren't so bad? Perhaps he was going to get an adrenaline rush to top all adrenaline rushes? He sighed and closed his eyes; feeling just a little bit guilty, but not enough to drown out the overwhelming excitement.

Damn, he  _really_  needed to find a new hobby.

...

Chuck slumped into the chair with a deflated sigh. Almost instinctively, he pulled up his screens and began working like always did. Things were so thrown out of routine lately that he needed to feel a hint of normal.

"You look beat," Julie's voice startled Chuck as she appeared around the corner and slid into the booth across from him. Her smile was soft and understanding as she tilted her head and studied him for a moment. She lifted her hand daintily and gestured towards Chuck, "That's a new look." She was referring to his bangs.

The blonde had forgotten all about the clip in his hair that held them back. He let his hand lift up to it, but did not take it off. "Oh, um y-yeah. They piss me off when I have to look down when changing's Mike's bandages so I just, you know," he pantomimed clipping them back.

The mention of Mike's name spoiled Julie's smile a bit. Her deep red lips turning down at the corners. "How's he doing? I haven't seen him since you put the stitches in. Is he going to let anyone other than you see him anytime soon?"

"Yeah, Texas is starting to think you've actually killed him and now you've got a zombie Mike hanging out in the room that you, like, trained to be good but it's not quite there yet so you've got to keep it locked up and-"

"I think what he means is, we're concerned." Dutch and Texas chimed in as they walked in from the garage. Dutch had a dirty cloth in his hands as he wiped furiously at the grease. Texas made a sour face when the other interrupted his totally awesome theory. They sat down to join Chuck and Julie. The gang was all here, all except the very one that defined the group.

"So, when _are_ we allowed to see him again?" Dutch said, giving up on getting the grease off and simply setting his hands on the table.

"Is he upset that we all saw him cry like a little girl? Because, he totally did." Texas said with a smirk, flipping his palm up to simultaneously karate chop the air and flex. The others simply rolled their eyes and smiled, accustomed but not immune to Texas' personality.

Julie leaned over the table and placed her hand on Chuck's, squeezing affectionately. Chuck looked up from his screens at her smile, only to chuckle weakly and look back down. He type a few codes before speaking. "W-well, he's, ah, he's getting better. But any time I mention coming down here or letting you guys come up he..." his voice trailed off, remembering how sad Mike had looked. He hadn't said a word, but his face had shown it all. He was not ready to face his friends. Not now anyways. Only he was fully aware of the reason why he had this accident, and that fact alone put a rotten taste in his mouth. Chuck had mentioned how the burners were worried about him, but the point was moot. Mike new just how much they were worried, and it was killing him. A few days earlier and Mike probably would've jumped on the idea of wondering about downstairs. But now that his wound was healing, and walking was an actual option soon, Mike seemed to be pulling away.

"I can't," was all Mike had said.

Chuck felt his friend's eyes burning holes into him as he lowered his head, regretting not unclipping his bangs when he had the chance. There wasn't any way he could hide from them; which is what he felt like doing 95 percent of the time.

Julie sensed Chuck's discomfort and turned towards the others. "I'm sure Mike is just feeling embarrassed. For once he's actually gotta lay low, and we  _all_  know what that does to him."

While Texas and Dutch nodded in agreement, Chuck winced at her words. They had quite the double meaning for him. His mind flashed back to Mike's request, and how he had so stupidly responded with "I'll think about it." That was actually the last thing he wanted to do. Hell, he wished he never had to think of it again. But it was too late now. The domino had been tipped. His mind wandered; wondering if he should do some research about it. Well, it wasn't as if he was entirely new to the, um, the action. Maybe doing it to Mike would somehow make him feel better.

"Chuck?"

Chuck shook himself out of his own thoughts and peered up to see the other burners staring at him oddly. Oh God, had he been talking out-loud?

"What?" he squeaked.

"You seem tired, and really out of it. Do you need a break from playing caretaker? I could help out you know," Julie gazed at her friend, concern plastered to her expression.

"I don't think he wants anyone but Chuck," Dutch added nonchalantly; not knowing just how much truth was in his statement.

"Texas thinks we should bake a cake the _size_ of Texas and give it to Mike. No one could feel bad after that! We'd have to figure out what awesome tastes like though, to make the flavor accurate. Ka-chaww." He sliced at the air, jumping up excitedly.

The others laughed, and Chuck did too. But he couldn't help but think further on Texas' words. Mike did need to see his friends again. If things were ever going to return to normal, he'd have to come out of that room eventually.

He just needed a way to convince him.

Oh yeah. Blowjob.

 _Shit_.

He grabbed the clip on the top of his head and yanked it out; finally allowing himself to hide behind his blonde wall as the others fell into conversation without him.

...

Even hours after his request, Mike found himself in a higher spirit. He'd never really admit to this fact, but there was no denying how much lighter he felt. It was like his battery had been recharged, and it was a little sad now that he thought about it.

Had he really gotten to such a low point that coercing his friend into this situation was actually an option? Not only that, but his friend had actually went along with the idea. When images of poor Chuck, stuttering and mumbling and blushing elsewhere, Mike decided he'd rather  _not_  think about it. His shoulders slumped, and he relaxed into his bed.

It was decided. He was the worst person in Motorcity. And yet, that tiny flutter of his heart which taunted him continued on. Despite his best efforts-well, maybe not his  _best,_  but close enough-primal human nature was the victor.

Mike sighed, thinking that all this was probably going to end badly. If there was one thing Kane had taught him, it was recognizing bad investments. He laid in bed for quite some time, mulling over his life and his choices, before his thoughts brought him back to Chuck's joking comment. As they say, in every lie there is some truth.

He lifted his arm and turned his head, sniffing his armpit. Ok, so maybe he was _kinda_ on the verge of repulsive. Could you blame him? The first few days had been nothing but pain and agony and self loathing. The last thing on his mind had been hygiene. Once the pain had been relatively tolerable, the self loathing had stayed, and his lousy addiction had distracted him of the important things.

Mike sat up and carefully lifted his leg, lacing his fingers on the underside of his knee. Moving both legs slowly over the edge, he let them lower down robotically. The rush of blood to his foot made it ache and throb, and it felt as if it was going to pop. Luckily, it didn't, and Mike sat there breathing slowly; waiting for a moment until the discomfort faded.

Alright. So, the first part had gone relatively smooth. Mike lifted his head and peered around his room. His eyes eventually fell back on his feet, and he bit his lip.

"If I step on you, will you hate me?" he spoke as he placed his hands on either side of his hips. He lifted himself and scooted so his butt was halfway off the edge. A slightly unsteady breath escaped through his teeth as he gently put his feet down on the cold floor. "So far so good," he mumbled.

And as if acting out of spite, the moment he shifted his weight onto his feet, they throbbed in pain. He clenched his teeth, wincing. Frustrated and angry, Mike punched his thigh and cursed. He was entirely sick of being so helpless.

Of course, Mike was the resourceful type, and he quickly conjured a plan. He pushed his comforter to the end of his bed. Pulling the thin sheet off of his bed in one easy swoop, Mike folded it and plopped it on the floor in front of his stood up on his good foot, carefully hovering his bandaged one over the folded sheet. Good job he was athletic, balancing on solid ground was a walk in the park for him. Once his good foot settled, he gingerly let his other down; placing it just enough on the fabric.

He thought he must have looked comical; limping with one foot and sliding the other on a dirty bed sheet, but it was the best he could manage. Each time he had to put a bit of weight on his bandaged foot was pretty awful, but his ingenious cushioning for it _did_ help a bit. Having limited movement of his bad foot took a lot of the pain off, but it still was an exhausting task. Mike began to wonder if he'd be have enough energy to shower when... _if_ he made it across the hall to the bathroom. He silently thanked the powers that be for his convenient room location.

...

Mike had let himself fall into the bathroom after opening the door; his arms catching his fall against the rug. His impatient nature had gotten him a bit peeved during  
his little journey, so he picked up his folded sheet and threw it down the hallway before closing the door.

Now, he stood awkwardly in the bathtub/shower combination that Chuck and Dutch had designed long ago; during their days as new burners. Leaning back against the cold tile and sticking his foot out beyond the curtain. He sighed, thinking that there probably was a better, more efficient way to do this, but he was just too tired to care.

Much to his surprise, his shower went without catastrophe. Sure, the water was colder than he likes, but good plumbing was hard to come by in Motorcity. They'd take what they could get.

His muscles had felt instant relief as the lukewarm water hit his skin and soaked his hair. A soft hum vibrated in his throat now as he slicked his hair back, washing out the rest of the shampoo/conditioner suds. He combed his fingers against his scalp, massaging stress away. Although the water felt good and it was definitely awesome finally getting to bathe, his leg had started getting sore from having to hold his body weight up at an odd angle.

He sighed, giving up, and simply sat down. The water hit his side now as he sat, letting his leg stick out through the curtain over the ledge of the tub, the other was bent up against his stomach. Lowering his position, his back pressed up against the opposite side of tub, and his head pressed against the tile. He closed his eyes and sighed once again, falling into a peaceful lull.

Mike's mind found its way to its secret parts; lazily flowing through mental images that any normal 18 year old would have stored away. He brought his hand to his dick and wrapped his fingers around it without hesitation. It was wet and slick and completely soft, but he was going to change that soon. As his right hand started to pump from root to tip, his left felt its way behind him, placing itself against the cold tile. He use it as leverage to sit up a bit. His breathing began to quicken and his heart was starting to thump wildly as waves of pleasure shivered through him. Mouth open and eyes closed, Mike pressed his left hand against the tile once more, shifting again; never quite finding a comfortable spot.

His panting breath slowly morphed into moans with each exhale; mouth falling open wider. He squeezed tighter on his hardened member, pumping at a wilder, quicker pace. It was now that his mind was out the window, and he was only acting on instinct.

His left hand, once bracing him up against the wall, moved on its own. It reached in front of him, beyond his dick, and moved lower. His middle finger hesitated near his entrance, waiting for his good leg to prop his hips up. Once he was up, muscles shaking from the foreign position, his finger pressed in. Immediately his head shot back and his mouth opened in a silent scream. His breath was now gasping and his body twitched. His finger moved in and out as deep as he could get it, and his right hand stroked in jerky movements. Mike didn't even have time to put a second finger in before he was coming, back arching and leg trembling as it fought to keep him up. After the climax, he promptly let his body crumble; ass slapping hard against the tub's floor.

Mike's chest rose and fell in gasping pants. He smiled in satisfaction, lazily rubbing his palm on his stomach to help the water wash his cum away. What a delightful fixation he discovered.

...

Mike felt physically refreshed now the he was clean and somewhat clothed; holding his t-shirt in hand, new sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He hopped on his good leg softly towards the door and opened it. He paused, pursing his lips, and cursed.

Now how was he going to get back?

 _Shit_.

...

"Have you thought about it?" Mike asked almost too quickly, and he realized this. He shut his mouth and pursed his lip in a sheepish grin. Chuck hadn't even been in the room for five seconds. Chuck felt his knees go weak, and he was unable to truly look Mike in the eyes. He securely hid behind his bangs as he turned his back to his friend and mindlessly shifted through things on Mike's dresser.

Mike was sitting up in his bed, hair still damp from his shower. Chuck was curious as to how he managed to get himself across the hall without anyone's help, but decided not to comment. Instead he stuck with, "I hope you didn't get the bandages wet. Those are a bitch to put on you know."

He glanced quickly over his shoulder at Mike, who laughed at an unspoken joke. He seemed refreshed. His tan skin looked smooth and rich against his t-shirt; hair sticking up in the back despite his obvious attempts to comb it down.

"I have," Chuck was surprised that actual words came out. He felt his stomach do a somersault when he noticed Mike perk up. He quickly had to think of something to back track, to save his own hyde from what could easily become the most awkward conversation ever. "B-b-but  _first_ ," his voice cracked a bit but he plowed right through it, "I want to ask you something."

Mike settled into his bed a bit, obviously disappointed with Chuck's comment. He pat his bed and smiled, "What is it, Chuckles?"

"I...you... have..." Chuck struggled to figure out what he actually wanted to say. He sighed at his lack of conversational confidence and walked over to sit on the edge of Mike's bed.

However discouraging Chuck's people skills were, he was successfully able to bring up the topic he wanted. They sat there chatting, as friends do, for quite some time. Chuck hesitantly asked Mike what the hell he was doing at that junk pile in the first place. He already had a smidgen of an idea, but he wanted to hear it straight from Mike. Mike breathed deeply through his nose and closed his eyes.

"You know that feeling...like, when your heart races, your arms are all shaky, and you feel like you wanna throw up but in a good way?" Mike finally said in childish wonder. Chuck frowned but nodded. "Well, I kinda...well, I really like that. The feeling, I mean. And I mean, _really_ like it."

He then went on to describe just how great it made him feel. He had noticed this bliss when they would fight Kane bots, but he soon realized it wasn't enough.

"So,  _that's_  why you kept pushing the limits. Jesus, I thought you were just going suicidal or something. Had me worried there, dude." Chuck said, leaning back on his hands. Mike laughed, embarrassed that he was so worried before. Of course Chuck understood. Who else would but him?

When Mike mentioned how his addiction had pretty much thrown his life off its hinges, Chuck practically toppled over in laughter.

"Shut up." Mike couldn't help but giggle too, "What? What's so funny?"

"Mike, you can't actually be addicted to a natural secreting hormone. That's like saying you're addicted to...I dunno...taste buds." He brushed his bangs out of his eyes momentarily to look Mike in the eye and smile. Mike felt his heart jump, and he quickly avoided Chuck's gaze.

"Well, whatever. It feels like an addiction. You don't get it, Chuckles. It's pure hell, torture! I sit around doing nothing all day and it makes me want to rip my own legs off."

Chuck and Mike continued talking, Chuck nodding and understanding his friend's emotions. Eventually the conversation turned to what Chuck originally aimed for.

"Mikey, do you wanna talk to somebody about it? I mean, I can't be that much help, I'm the weakest of the bunch. I could get Julie, or Dutch or...ok,  _not_  Texas...but Jacob?"

Mike groaned and threw a pillow at Chuck. "I can't, don't you get it? I am the worst person ever, and now you know why I can't face them. I need to get over this...thing, this addiction" Chuck scoffs and Mike pouts, "Ok, this  _hobby_  I have. What's the point of getting better and moving on, when I'll just fall right back into that dangerous, and stupid, routine?"

Chuck chewed on the inside of his cheek, not saying anything but  _definitely_  agreed.

...

Mike and Chuck have been talking hours now. They simply got lost in each other; losing track of time while talking about everything under the sun. And like any conversation 18 year olds have, it eventually took a turn for the weird.

"So, I told them. No way are we doing an orgy LARP. That's where I draw the line."

Mike laughed, tears forming in the corners of his eyes at Chuck's story.

"Dude, speaking of which. Jerking off is so annoying now, you know?" He was sitting up again, softly punching his thigh which had fallen asleep. "I can't even fucking orgasm without doing something weird and exciting. That's how bad it's gotten."

Chuck gave a neutral shrug; not having the mental or emotional strength to comment. But underneath his bangs, his eyes grew wide. Completely in awe that these words fell off Mike's lips as if they were talking about the weather.

"That's when I tried fingering myself-"

"You, wait, you _what_?" Chuck choked out, squeezing the pillow he had in his lap as he sat cross-legged on Mike's bed.

Mike pursed his lips, blinked, and looked up from his hands; he had a habit of staring at them while he talked. "Sorry, too weird?"

"N-no, it's, no." Chuck smoothed out the pillow against his legs, "Sorry. Keep going."

Mike paused for a moment, now a bit self-conscience of the entire topic. But it was too late to turn back now. "W-well," his voice started out weak and he quickly cleared his throat, "I figured it was something I wouldn't typically  _do_ , so I tried it. And it was actually pretty awesome. Afterwards, I almost felt like my old self again. God, this is so lame. I am. so.  _lame_." He back tracked, feeling incredibly idiotic for letting this much information slip. But with Chuck, it just seemed natural to talk about it.

That's when Mike got an idea. A terrible, awful, really really _bad_ idea. But it was a great idea.

"You know," he said in his best 'I'm not actually super pumped right now for even saying this' voice, "I bet doing weird shit with you would be pretty sexy."

Chuck practically fainted. He opened his mouth and attempted to form words but all that came out was a weak whimper that ended in a crescendo of a question.

Mike laughed, a bit nervously. Ok, he had gotten out of line. "Dude, chill out. I'm not actually going to ask you to-"

"I'll do it."

"P-pardon me?" His boy-scout was showing.

"I said I'll  _do_   _it_ , Mike. If giving you weird sexual favors to feed this...fixation you have getting your heart beats per minute to immeasureable rates...then I'll do whatever I can to help." Chuck felt like he was out of his own body, watching himself as he spoke these words. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't putting a bit of the Vanquisher into play. He'd do anything for Mike, to help him through this super early mid-life crisis he was currently going through. Even if that meant becoming...whatever this was.

And after a few minutes of terrible, awful idea brainstorming. It was settled.

Chuck would provide the adrenaline, if Mike would promise to start actually leaving his room.  _Actually_  attempt to see his friends, and return to what life used to be like. Chuck was mildly satisfied with this deal. Of course, if you had told him two weeks ago that he'd be in a sexual contract with his best friend in the entire world all because his friend couldn't control his urges, he had probably laughed in your face.

But now, Chuck realized that it was a very possible situation. One that he was starting to understand he actually had nothing to do with.

This was all Mike. Once again, Mike the leader of the Burners took charge.

Well, at least he was starting to act like his old self right?

_Right?_

...

Mike shifted himself upwards in the bed, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he leaned against the headboard. Chuck sat quietly on the bed and tucked his hair behind his ear, only to have it fall out immediately afterwards. They sat there for some time, simply waiting. Neither of them really grasped that yes, this was actually happening. And  _shit_ , what the  _hell_  where they even doing?

The blonde burner turned to look at his friend. His freckled face was flushed a deep red and his voiced trembled, "I'll make you feel good, alright?"

Mike gulped, stunned into a rare embarrassed silence. Chuck shifted his hips a bit and leaned over to bring his face down towards Mike's groin. When his hands found their way onto his thighs, Mike had to bit his lip hard. It was all he could do to keep himself from completely jumping Chuck right there. His pupils were dilated, his pulse was racing. His heart felt like it was trying to bust its way out of his ribcage. He swallowed dryly again and let his mouth open, his breath becoming heavy despite his best efforts.

As embarrassing as it was to admit it, Mike was thoroughly and completely turned on right now. And when Chuck's hands squeezed ever so slightly, and brought his lips to the fabric of his pants, Mike felt his body tremble in that ever so delightful shiver. The brunette recognized this feeling and something was off. It wasn't the same.

Well, it was the same. Physically, speaking.

But, something.

Ugh.

This was getting too annoying and confusing.

Was he really just seeking another adrenaline hit? Or was this somehow...different? Something more? Did he  _want_  it to be more?

He had grown accustomed to the rush, the thrill, and that pleasant chill he got whenever he went on his dangerous adventures. But as he looked at his friend now, right at this moment, all he wanted was to feel his skin; count his freckles, kiss those lips...

"Chuck, wait, this," he had begun to say; his voice lacking its usual strength.

"You don't want me to?" Chuck asked without hesitation. He looked up at Mike, bringing a hand up to his forehead and pushing back his bangs. Their eyes met, and it was like a bolt of lightning struck through Mike. His face felt on fire and his dick throbbed eagerly. It was at this moment when he knew he was in too deep. There was no way this was going to go down without some sort of emotional train wreck to follow. "I want to," the blonde added, interrupted Mike's thoughts with a smile.

"I," Mike began but promptly forgot what words were, so he had to settle with awkward, open mouth twitches.

Chuck's gentle smile widened, and he let his bangs fall over his eyes once again. He moved his hand over Mike's groin and pressed into the fabric, gaining a sharp hiss from his friend. "Just relax, bro, I...um...I've got experience with this so, I'll take care of everything."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started out as something that would be longer, more thought out, and had a good story. But, I soon just decided to make it porn.


End file.
